Smooge: A Fan Fiction Carol
by Dearheart
Summary: PRETTY MUCH DEAD. DON'T ASK ME TO UPDATE PLZ. Emma-Leeza Smooge is the worst of the worst.
1. Credits

_The FF Masterpiece Theater Presents:_

--**_A Fan Fiction Carol _**--

**Starring:**

**Emma-Leeza Smooge, **played by...uhh...I don't know. Any Suthor I guess.

**Tommy,** inspired by my neighbor's little brother

**Freda,** played by...my mom? Maybe?

**Little Lynn,** played by...one of my sisters, I guess? I'm not sure...

**Jackie Barley,** played by Val Evenstar

**Ima G. Catchit,** played by Inkling

**Ghost of Fan Fiction Past,** played by Petraverd

**Ghost of Fan Fiction Present, **played by H. Max Marius (Cherokee)

**Ghost of Fan Fiction Future,** played by E. C. Peters (Squeaklebeep) and Gleebecheep

_Apologies to all my Lion's Call friends, but I might not be able to give all of you cameos in this story. It's proving to be rather unwieldy to the original Smooge stuff I've written and more trouble than it's worth. I haven't completely made up my mind yet, but I'm just not sure about this cameo thing anymore. I'll do a few if I can, but I might not be able to fit all of you in. Please know that it's nothing personal, that I love all of you very, very much and I'd give each and every one of you a starring role if I could! (huggles)_

**Many, many thanks to Violamom, my awesome beta-reader for this fic and even awesomer mom!! Thank**** you so much! (As Smooge would say...OMG!!1 u liek ttly roc mi sox!!)**

**_Summary:_** Emma-Leeza Smooge is the worst of the worst. She drools over William Moseley's "geeeorgeous aquamarine eyes". She uses paragraphs the size of napkins to describe her disgusting Mary Sues. Her spelling and grammar are enough to give people seizures. And worst of all...she also writes slash and incest fics and gushes about how Peter and Susan look "sooooo cute 2gethR!" But on Christmas Eve, she is visited by the ghost of her beta-reader and the three spirits of Fan Fiction Past, Present and Future. Will she learn to change her ways, keep True Narnia in her heart and respect our beloved fandom before it's too late?

_So sit and listen, dearest reader  
Hear me, if you may  
I weave you a tale of a fangirl's plight  
Of howling ghosts and Spirits bright  
And a wonder on Christmas Day..._


	2. Stave 1: Barley's Ghost

**A/N:** IT'S FINALLY HERE!! YAY!! I hope you enjoy this first chapter! Read and enjoy, duckies!

Oh yes...I would like to stress the fact that I am not trying to offend anyone in particular. This fanfic is simply for fun and Sue bashing. Any simularities between Smooge and you is purely unintentional...and probably a sign that you need to wise up and read more books. (And I mean GOOD books, not Harlequin Romance novels.) ;-)

* * *

Stave 1: Barley's Ghost

OR

The Girl Who Gets to Shoot At People With A Cool Flaming Pen And Wail Smooge's Name In A Very Spooky Voice 

Jackie Barley was dead. As dead as a doornail.

In the fan fiction world she was once known as PeterzEvenstar, the beta-reader of Emma-Leeza Smooge (whose penname was Xxwilliamsgirl4everxX)...but alas, Smooge's stories were so bad, so horrible...that Barley eventually died of BFIS (Bad Fanfic Intolerance Syndrome).

Smooge didn't care. She was as shallow as a birdbath, loud and giggly, and as empty-headed as a goldfish bowl. The tweenage fangirlishness within her wiped out her writing abilities, perverted her imagination, shriveled her common sense, stiffened her creativity, made her eyes swoony and her poofy lips say annoying things. All she cared about was Peter/Will, "teh hottest guy evR!!" She constantly fantasized about him, drooled over his "dreamy" blue eyes and gushed about how Peter and Susan were "OMG!!1 ther such a cute coupl there liek ment 2 b 2gethR!!"

Flames and constructive criticisms had little influence on her...for of course, she only listened to the people who raved about her stories. She yelled indignantly at the flamers, ignored the critics and squealed over the people who sent a positive review her way. It was enough for her to hear people say, as she said of a recent Peter/OC fic, "OMG!! plz update soon i lurv this stry itz liek ttly awesome!!1"

On this occasion it was a late Christmas Eve night, and Smooge was busy at the computer desk in her room, her eyes glazed over and glued to the glowing monitor and her little sparkly, manicured fingertips typing away at the keyboard, spawning some new devilry of a fanfic. She had just finished returning flames to someone who had insulted a Peter/Susan/Edmund lurv-triangle fanfic she wrote, and now she was working on an update for her latest Mary Sue fic, titled "true luv in nanria". And yes, that is how she spelld it.

She paused a moment and sighed dreamily as she looked over her napkin-sized paragraph. It was from Peter's POV and he was swooning over his "beutifull" girlfriend/warrior/unicorn shape-shifting enchantress, waxing eloquent (cough) about her "jewl-lyke" eyes and "simmmring" hair, remembering about how he'd found her unconscious in the woods "liek an angel htat had falen frum teh sky", and musing over how "hse didnt hav 2 uze her powrs 2 spelbind hm." (Doing all this for the seventh time in the story, actually.) Her mind was soon lost in yet another brainless fantasy...in fact, so lost that she didn't notice her little brother creep up behind her...

"Oooooo, sissy's dreaming about William Moseley again..."

"Shut up, Tommy," she snapped, jolting out of her day-dream. She whirled around to smack him but he danced out of the way, grinning from ear to ear in the gleeful, mischievous way only a ten-year-old boy can accomplish.

"Emma and Will-iam, sittin' in a tree," he sang, "K-I-S-S-I-N-G..."

Of course, an ordinary girl with at least half a brain would be thoroughly ticked off by now. But not Smooge. Instead, she stopped dead in her tracks and instantly went into Fangirl Mode.

"Omigosh! Sitting in a tree with the hottest guy ever? Gazing into those depths of immeasurable blue? Kissing those soft, sweet, gorgeous lips of his? That would, like, totally be sooooo romantic..."

"Aaagh! MY EYES!"

Tom had had the misfortune of catching sight of her fanfic. He howled and covered his face, staggering blindly around the room.

"My EYES! It burns, it burns...I'll be scarred for life..."

Smooge just rolled her own, undamaged ones. "Enough with the melodrama already."

"I swear, I'm not pretending!"

"Didn't I tell you to shut up and GET OUT OF MY ROOM?"

He uncovered his eyes for a moment.

"Technically, no."

"Well I'm saying it now: SHUT UP AND GET OUT OF MY ROOM!" She reached out to grab him but he only dodged out of the way again, as if in a game of Tag. She chased him in endless circles around the room, but Tommy was a master at eluding her grasp. She finally gave up and hollered,

"MOM!"

She needn't have said anything; for her mother, Freda, was already standing in the doorway.

"Stop it right now, you two," she ordered, stepping between them.

"Mom," Smooge whined, "he's like, totally bugging me!" Her brother mouthed along with her, exaggerating the pout on her lips. She glared at him and punched him in the arm, which only sent him lapsing into snorting giggles.

"That's enough!" Their mom sighed in exasperation and gave them both a reproachful look. "Come on, guys," she said. "Little Lynn is trying to rest, and you two are making way too much noise. You _know_ how fragile your sister's health is, and she's only just gotten over the cancer..."

Smooge huffed and crossed her arms, but Tommy at least had the decency to mumble an apology.

"And besides," added Freda, "it's Christmas. The least you can do is try to be civil to each other for once."

"Civil?" Smooge snerked.

"Funny joke there, mom," chorused her brother.

"Oh good grief..." Freda turned him around to face his sister. "Tommy, this is your sister's room and you had no right to barge in without her permission. Now apologize to her."

Smooge smirked in triumph. Undaunted, Tommy stood up quite straight and smiled angelically back.

"I apologize for intruding, _dear_ sister," he said, his voice as sweet as the fake sugar people put in their coffee. "I hope you have a _very_ merry Christmas."

"Likewise, _dearest_ brother," said Smooge, her voice practically dripping with Splenda.

"Fred!" Their dad's voice echoed up the stairs. "Hun, the phone's for you!"

"I give up!" said their mom, pushing Tommy out the bedroom door and hurrying down the stairs. Smooge gave a victorious "Squeeeeeeee!" and resumed her activities.

A little later, Freda came back with a glass of cold eggnog for her. She saw her daughter glued to the computer again and frowned in disapproval.

"I wish you'd spend less time staring at a screen and more time doing something more constructive...like reading a good book, or drawing, or playing outside in the snow."

"Puh-leez," said Smooge, rolling her eyes. "Gag me with a spoon. Reading _books_? That stuff is, like, soooo boring."

"No it isn't," said Freda, striding over to Smooge's long-abandoned bookshelf and dusting off her neglected books. "Books are wonderful things. They're like...gateways. Portals."

Smooge snorted and kept typing. Her mother took no notice and continued,

"They're like doorways that your imagination can slip through. Once you open a book, you can go anywhere...to another time, another place..." She lovingly ran her fingers over the boxed set of the Narnia books she had given her daughter long ago. "Even another world," she murmured.

"Yeeeaaah. Sure. Whatever. _I've_ got my i-pod to play with."

Freda simply shook her head and walked back over to where Smooge sat. She peered over her daughter's shoulder and suddenly seemed to have something nasty in her throat. (At any rate, there was quite a bit of coughing and spluttering.) She regained her composure after a few moments, then casually asked,

"Emma...er, what's that you're writing?"

"I'm writing a story about Will...I mean, Peter. As if it has anything to do with you," she added, casting a hostile glance at her. Freda exhaled deeply and rubbed her temples.

"Um Emma? Sweetie, uh...look, I think it's great that you're doing something creative by writing stories about Narnia and I'm glad you love the movie so much, but...did you ever take the time to read the Chronicles of Narnia for yourself?"

"Pfft. No. Maybe way back in third grade or something…"

"Emma, stop for a second and look at me."

Smooge swiveled around to face her mother, and Freda laid a gentle hand on her shoulder.

"Listen, I wish you would be more considerate as far as Narnia goes. I grew up with it as a child, and it is very special to me. I wish you would treat it with more respect."

Smooge rolled her eyes for the umpteenth time and opened her mouth to answer back, but Freda jumped ahead:

"Emma...Narnia was not made to be twisted and abused by people. It was meant to be loved and cherished; to be a place of all that is good and noble. The world doesn't revolve around you and your dreams about William Mosby..."

"Uh, hello? It's William _Moseley_, Mom. The world _wouldn't_ revolve at all without his hotness. And guess what? It's a free country. I can do whatever I want with your oh-so-sacred Narnia..."

"Emma-Leeza Smooge!"

"And guess what else?" She pointed at the program on her screen. "The slogan clearly says 'unleash your imagination' and that's exactly what I'm doing. So bug off."

"Don't you use that tone with me, Emma-Leeza!"

Smooge realized she'd gone too far and immediately shut her mouth. Freda took a deep breath, shook her head sadly and made to leave the room. Before she shut the door, she said,

"Emma...quite frankly, you're missing out on a lot. I feel sorry for you."

"Yeah, whatever."

"Very well. Oh and by the way...you're grounded. No friends, TV, computer or i-pod."

"_What_?!" Smooge whirled around. "But Mom, it's Christmas! And I have plans!"

"Not anymore."

"But that's not _fair_!"

"Too bad. You're grounded, and that's final."

"But _why_?" whined Smooge. "What did I do this time? And for how long?"

"You're grounded for being disrespectful towards me, and your punishment will continue until you learn to honor your parents and the fandom they grew up with. I'm sorry I had to do this, it being Christmas and everything...but your attitude needs a lot of work. And I won't stand for it anymore."

"Fine, be that way." Smooge huffed and slumped in her chair, sulking.

"Yes, well...I love you too. Goodnight." Freda blew her a goodnight kiss and shut the door. Smooge continued to pout. Getting grounded at Christmas? Life was _so_ unfair.

Soon all the lights were turned out. Her parents had somehow miraculously managed to finish wrapping up all the last-minute gifts and get to bed before midnight. All through the house not a creature was stirring...except Smooge. She was munching on chips and taking advantage of her computer before her mom could take it away tomorrow.

Reaching for another handful, she suddenly felt very cold, as if a wintry draft was breezing through her window. She shivered and checked to see if she'd left it open a crack. It was shut fast.

"Okay, that's weird." She shook her head and took no further notice of it. She did, however, take time to change into her fuzzy hot-pink pajamas, all the while gazing at the William Moseley poster on her wall and sighing in the most fangirlish way.

And then, she saw it:

Where his face and "gorgeous blue eyes" should have been, there instead was the face of her long-departed beta-reader, Jackie Barley.

Smooge squeaked in fright, rubbed her eyes hard and looked again. Mr. Hottie's dreamy eyes were back where they belonged, and the intruding face was gone...as if it had never been there. She sighed in relief, and plopped down on her swivel chair again.

The big, hallway clock outside her room chimed the quarter hour. The only problem with this was the little fact that it hadn't ticked or chimed for as long as she could remember.

Smooge felt a _tiny_ bit spooked as she flung open her bedroom door, half-expecting to see Tommy or one of her parents doing something to it. But no one was there.

"Gee...Dad must have finally fixed it or something. Yeah, that's it."

She closed the door behind her and gave a weak laugh, trying hard to convince herself that there was nothing to be scared of. But just as she managed to calm herself down...

"_Smooge..."_

A high, thin, wailing whisper drifted by; a cold, ghostly murmur that would have sent shivers up and down her spine...if she'd had one, that is.

"Mom?" Smooge called out in a shaky voice. "Dad? Tommy? You guys, this is _so_ not funny!"

"_Smooooooge..."_

She now felt thoroughly spooked and flung open the door again to yell at whoever was scaring her. No one was there--but an eerie, greenish light glowed from downstairs, and she thought she heard the clinking sound of chains being dragged up the creaky wooden stairs...

She shrieked, slammed the door shut and dove under the piles of pink and green cushions on her bed.

"_EMMMAAA-LEEEZAAA SMOOOOOOOGE!"_

The door flew open with a blast of icy wind, and in passed the wraithlike figure of Jackie Barley, bound in a long, sinister, glittery-pink chain and holding a flaming pen in her left hand.

The Ghost looked with disdain at the trembling behind sticking out from among the heap of pillows and casually pointed the pen at it, shooting out a small, well-aimed stream of flames.

"AYIIIIEEEEE!" Smooge gave a deafening screech and shot up ten feet in the air, landing in an undignified heap on the floor before Barley's phantom form.

"W-who the h-heck are _you_?!" Smooge wailed, ending in a squeak.

"Ask me who I was."

"Huh?" Smooge gave her a blank stare.

"Ask me who I was," the Ghost repeated.

"Uhhh...why?"

"Oh for crying out loud, it's in the script! Just go with it and ASK ME WHO I WAS!" the Ghost boomed, taking a fistful of chains and shaking them in an intimidating way at the empty-headed girl.

"Okay, okay, fine!" cried Smooge. "Who _was_ you?"

The Ghost put a hand over her eyes in exasperation and muttered, "We have _so_ much work to do..." She cleared her throat and resumed her spooky-sounding voice. "In life I was your beta-reader, Jackie Barley."

"Omigosh! Are you, like, a ghost?"

"I am."

"But, hello? It's like waaaaay past Halloween and...oh wait." Smooge made a pathetic attempt at thinking, then smiled idiotically. "I get it, I'm dreaming! This happens all the time in the movies."

"You believe this is a dream, Smooge?"

"Yep."

"A DREAM?" the Ghost thundered, advancing upon her. The pen she wielded blazed threateningly. "Doesthis feel like a dream to you?" the spirit cried, shaking her chains again and wailing in quite a frightening way.

"Eeeeeep!" Smooge squealed and hid behind her swivel chair. "Be nice to me!"

"DO YOU BELIEVE IN ME OR NOT?"

"Okay, okay, I believe you! But like, why are you bugging _me_? Everyone always picks on me; it isn't _fair_..."

"Fair!" the Ghost spat. "I'll tell you what's not '_fair_': the fact that people who loved the Chronicles of Narnia—books that C. S. Lewis poured his heart and soul into—cared enough to make a decent movie out of it...and YOU won't even bother to give the books a glance! The fact that people grew up with those books and have fond childhood memories of them...yet YOU twist and distort the characters they love for your own stupid, selfish, wish-fulfillment fantasies! You don't care; nobody caaaaaaares!"

The Ghost's accusing voice faded into an anguished cry of sorrow and torment; a cry that would have pierced the heart of any other human being. Smooge, however, was completely lost and not too interested. She instead had her eyes on the yards of pink, glittery chain that were wrapped around her beta-reader's ghostly figure.

"Jackie, whazzup with the chain? It would look sooooo much cuter on you if you wore it as a belt or something."

The poor spirit flinched at the mention of the nonexistent word "wazzup", and replied,

"I wear the chain I forged in life by my selfish, ignorant acts against Narnia. I made it link by link and yard by yard, and of my own free will I wore it. But these are not only my fetters. They are also the chains that bind the beloved realm of Narnia in ugly, perverted, trashy fanfic. Fangirls and great writers alike, we forge these chains, binding ourselves and Narnia with it. Is its pattern strange to you?" The Ghost gave her a shrewd look.

Smooge blinked. "Uhhh...I don't get it."

The Ghost sighed. "The chain symbolizes...oh never mind..." (She had probably realized that explaining the whole thing to her was a hopeless cause.) "Let's just get down to business. I came to help save you from certain doom, and no amount of stupidity is going to stop me."

"Okay, whatever." Smooge shrugged, the words "certain doom" going completely over her head.

"You will be haunted," she continued, "by Three Spirits."

"What?! Oh come _on_," protested Smooge. "Getting haunted by _you_ was exciting enough, but three more?"

"Yes, Smooge," said the Ghost severely. "Three more. DEAL WITH IT."

"Yeah...I think I'll pass on that, thanks."

"You'll thank me for this later, trust me. Without their visits, a vital part of you will die...and your future will not be as bright as it could have been. Expect the first tonight, when the bell tolls One."

"Couldn't I just have them all at once and get it over with?" Smooge whined.

"Nope. Sorry."

"By the way, how did you make that clock chime anyway? It's been broken in, like, forever."

"Night changes many things," said the Ghost mysteriously. The pen flared as the phantom's keen eyes gazed at her one last time and then pointed at the window. It swung open, and the coldness from outside drifted in.

As the icy wind swept through her window, Smooge heard something…a wailing, moaning sound, as though a thousand voices were crying out in anguish and grief. At first she thought it was just the swirling breeze; but as she peered out into the night, she realized it really _was_ a thousand voices…for down below, drifting in the streets, there was what seemed to be a ghostly procession. Hundreds upon hundreds of pale, translucent figures trudged through snow, all dragging glittery-pink chains behind them and weeping as though their hearts were breaking.

"They weep for their fandoms," said the Ghost, answering Smooge's unspoken question. "They weep because they wish to go back and start over; to write good fan fiction that honors and respects the fandoms they love. But it is too late for them, now. They have lost that power forever."

Smooge had a strange, nagging feeling in the back of her mind that maybe all this had something to do with her. But of course, she didn't have the sense to heed it.

Barley's Ghost nodded farewell to Smooge, moving towards the open window. But before she could take her leave, Smooge said,

"Jackie, wait! Hold on a sec! I wanna ask one more question."

"All right," sighed the Ghost. "Just make it quick."

"I wanna know, like, what happened. What happened to you?"

"It's pretty simple," she replied. "For a while I was your beta-reader, and every bit as vapid as you. But eventually I came to my senses and became quite a good writer...and an avid C. S. Lewis fan. That's when I stopped working with you. Then one day I made the mistake of wondering what you were up to, and I read one or two of your fics. They were so bad that I had a seizure and died of BFIS (Bad Fanfic Intolerance Syndrome) that very hour."

Smooge gaped in confusion and surprise. There was so much of this she couldn't wrap her puny little brain around...in particular the idea that her fanfics were—God forbid—BAD. That was _so_ not cool.

Jackie Barley's Ghost simply winked at her, drifted out the window and faded into the mist, leaving Smooge to collapse dramatically in a dead faint on the bed.


	3. Stave 2: The First of the Three Spirits

**A/N:** At last! An update!! (rejoices) Sorry it took me so long, but I've been lazy and Smooge has been somewhat stubborn. Oh yes...just so you know, this is just the first part of Stave 2. There's more fun and Smooging to come, and it's coming soon! Fear not! Why split Stave 2 in half? It was getting extremely loooooooonng (14 pages!!). Again, I apologize for the wait. Hope you enjoy this next installment!

* * *

Stave 2: The First of the Three Spirits

OR

The Unicorn Who Bangs People Over The Head With The Lewis Canon And Is Obsessed With Making Sure His Horn Is The Proper Color 

Smooge later awoke to the quiet darkness of dead night breathing its cold, icy breath into her room. She sat up, yawned lazily...and noticed her window was open. At first she didn't think much of it. Being as dim-witted as she was, she had all but forgotten last night's events. But as she moved to close it, her fingers brushed against some chalky, powdery gray stuff with bits of black in it. It was a small pile of ashes, as if a few matches had burned there on the window sill.

"Ew..." Smooge wrinkled her nose in disgust and swept the substance out the window before pulling it shut.

Now whether she was finally awake, or the ashes had some special property in them with the ability to help people think, I cannot tell...but she remembered.

"Omigosh! Jackie!"

She pressed her nose to the glass, half-expecting to see her beta-reader's ghostly form outside, aiming a blazing pen in her direction...but the streets were empty and dark. No cheery lamps or twinkling Christmas lights were on; not even the streetlights. Only the great, white face of the moon and a few bright stars cast their light upon the world, causing the snow on the ground to glow with an eerie silver brilliance.

Smooge reassured herself with her own brilliant logic:

"Hrmm...it was probably was just a lousy dream anyway. I mean, like, come on...ghosts are _so_ not real." She scoffed at the foolish notion of there being a Real supernatural realm and turned her back to the window again, shivering.

"Geez, its like, sooooo cold."

She grabbed a nearby blanket and huddled into its warmth. Sighing dreamily for the millionth time in her life (though the sound was broken up by her chattering teeth), she was soon fantasizing about a certain "hawt" someone standing next to her..._his aquamarine eyes filled with concern for her health, taking off his royal cloak and wrapping it around her shoulders with his strong, protective hands, OMG...so romantic...etc, etc..._

She stood there, smiling idiotically and staring off into space, completely oblivious to the fact that her digital clock was acting rather peculiar.

If she had taken a moment to snap out of her castle in the sky and observe, she would've noticed that time was apparently going completely crazy. The digits blipped from six to seven, and from seven to eight, and on up to twelve again...though by the time she neared the end of her fantasy, it was almost one.

She was just leaning in to kiss her imaginary Peter/Will, when...

_BONG._

"…_Expect the first ghost when the __**bell tolls One**__…"_

The hallway clock chimed the hour.

Smooge gasped, shaken out of her reverie...then...Nothing...just silence...

"Ha!" she shouted in triumph. "The ghost is a no-show! I _knew_ it was just a stupid dream…"

Of course the girl had spoken too soon, for all at once there was a dramatic _whoosh_ and a brilliant white light, and THEN…

…a big, weird-shaped, white thing.

At least, that was how Smooge would've described it. Anybody else would have immediately recognized it as unicorn covered in a white sheet with eyeholes.

Smooge stared. A pair of bright green eyes stared back.

"Emmmaaa-Leeeezaaaa SMOOOOOOOGE!!" it suddenly wailed (in a rather "horse" voice), rearing up on its hind legs and trying hard to act all spooky-ghosty-come-to-haunt-you. "I am the Ghooooost of Fan Fiction Paaaaaaast..."

Smooge rolled her eyes. "Is _that_ the best you can do? Jackie was waaaaay spookier than you. Especially when it came to howling my name."

The figure beneath the sheet froze in mid-wail and the swathes of white fabric slid off its back, revealing a snowy-white unicorn with flowing mane and tail. Its horn was a beautiful INDIGO color (for everyone knows that all proper unicorns have indigo horns), and from the tip there shone a small, but dazzlingly bright jet of light, like a rapier made of pure moonlight. Altogether a magnificent-looking creature, except for its horsy mouth hanging wide open (still in mid-wail) and its flailing front hooves frozen in mid-air. As such, it looked rather ridiculous.

The unicorn snorted and resumed its rightful stance on the ground, glaring somewhat reproachfully at Smooge (who in turn was gaping at him in awe).

"Oh...my..._gosh_!" squeaked Smooge. "A _real_ unicorn! In _my_ room! Have you come to gallop me away to William Moseley?"

The unicorn rolled his eyes and face-hoofed (that is, he smacked his face with a hoof) and opened his mouth to say something. The twittering fangirl beat him to it.

"I _knew_ it!! William wants me to be his girlfriend and he sent you to get me!" she squealed, bouncing around the room in mindless giggles.

"You wish," muttered the unicorn (though Smooge took no notice), his emerald eyes glittering with a calm malice as he quietly observed her annoying antics. He casually strolled over to her deserted bookshelf and reached for the boxed set of the Narnia books. Taking them in his hooves (don't ask me how a unicorn can pick up something like that 'cause I'm not sure), he sauntered back to where Smooge was doing her bouncy-ball impersonation and without any warning gave her a good, hard _SMACK_ with them.

"OW!" Smooge immediately snapped out of it and stared dumbfounded at him. "What the...?!"

She never finished, for the unicorn then proceeded to give a war-cry of a whinny and BLUDGEON her mercilessly over the head with the Lewis canon.

"Take THAT!" he yelled, ruthlessly bonking her empty shell of a cranium, "and THAT! AND _THAT!_ That'll teach you to mess around with C. S. Lewis! This'll teach you to describe a unicorn's horn as PINK! That'll teach you to pair up certain brothers with certain sisters! HIYAH!!"

"Ack! Help!" shrieked Smooge, screaming bloody murder and making useless attempts to get away. "Murder! Fascists! Unicorns! It isn't _fair_!"

"_Don't _get me going about the 'fairness' issue, Smooge!" warned the ghostly unicorn, giving her one last _BONK_ for good measure. "Poor Jackie Barley already gave you that lecture. Now would you _please_ stop that unbearable screeching?"

Smooge shut her mouth, although her eyes continued to shoot daggers at the spirit. He in turn tried hard not to smirk with immense satisfaction.

"Now," said the spirit, "since things have calmed down a bit, let's..."

"Which 'ghost' are you again?' Smooge inquired, cutting him off again.

"Would you STOP INTERRUPTING PLEASE?" thundered the unicorn in exasperation.

"Okay, fine..." said Smooge, backing away nervously. She, for one, did _not_ want to be banged over the head again.

"Thank you. From now on, you will wait until I finish my sentences and _then_ say whatever you need to. (Not that you have anything particularly _intelligent_ to say, but that's partly why I'm here anyway.) Now, where was I...oh yes." The unicorn cleared his throat. "I am the Ghost of Fan Fiction Past, but you may call me Petraverd if you'd like."

"Um...okay, that's nice," said Smooge timidly. "Uhhh...if you're not taking me to William, then why are you here?"

"I'm here for your...shall we say...Extreme Makeover, Mental Edition," answered the ghost.

"Ooo goodie!" Smooge squeaked. "A makeover!" She turned to run to the bathroom and get her makeup, but the unicorn glomped her with a hoof before she could go anywhere.

"Not _that_ kind of makeover, you idiot…" he said, rolling his eyes.

"OW! Stop doing that!" said Smooge, rubbing her head reproachfully. "Now where did I put that Pink SparkleMagic Lip Gloss…"

"Smooge, did you hear me? It's not the kind of makeover you're thinking of..." cautioned Petraverd, but Smooge took no notice.

"Oh shut up and gimme the makeover! Come on, let's _go_!" She lunged for his horn to drag him after her, but the spirit dodged her greedy grasp.

"DON'T—TOUCH—THE HORN!" he yelled, looking somewhat petra-fied. "ANYTHING but the horn!"

"Okay, fine, just take me to the makeover already."

The poor creature regained his composure, then patiently continued, "The 'makeover' has already begun, Smooge."

"Huh? I don't get it..."

"You will," he reassured her. "Come, walk with me." He nudged her in the direction of her window, and once again it swung open.

"You don't mean we're going _out_ the window?" said Smooge, incredulously. "I mean, hello? There's this thing called Gravity?"

"I didn't think you'd even know what that _was_," muttered the unicorn, then said aloud, "Bear but a touch of my hoof there," lightly touching a hoof to her forehead, "and you shall fly with me."

Smooge expected the touch to feel cold and hard, and at first it did...yet it left an unexpected warmth behind; a warmth that grew and spread, little by little, from head to toe throughout the rest of her ghostly encounters that night. It felt firm and strong, but gentle and loving at the same time; it reminded her of something important she seemed to have forgotten...or was it someone? Or both? What was it...?

But she had no time to think about it or react, for at once they were whisked out the window and into the sky with incredible speed, rushing through waves and ripples of Time...leaving the world before and below them...falling away...going back...back...

...and the next thing she knew, her fuzzy-slippered feet were standing on solid ground.

Smooge had been screaming with fright and scrunching her eyes shut during the whole trip of course; but when she felt her feet touch the ground…she timidly opened one eye…then the other…and gasped.

They were standing in the middle of a small wood, with a beautifully starry sky above them and soft, pure snow beneath them. It was as quiet and still as a cathedral…and though Smooge had virtually no respect for Narnia or anything else, she couldn't help but feel she was in a very special, sacred place. There was a deep sense of wonderment here that she hadn't felt in many other places.

"Where are we?" she asked in a (somewhat) hushed voice.

"Where do you think we are?" Petraverd turned the question back to her, a secretive smile playing on his lips. "What does it look like to you?"

Smooge gave a thoughtful frown and put her head to one side, as if trying very hard to understand, to remember…

The spirit's face grew eager and hopeful. Was it working? Was she finally getting it?

Slowly…very slowly…the light bulb began to flicker…her eyes lit up, and in a burst of revelation she exclaimed,

"Omigosh! Are we, like, in Narnia?"

Petraverd sighed wearily. Her mental capacity wasn't fully restored yet, and her vocabulary wasn't improving much; but progress, however slow, was still progress.

"Yes," he said, "we are in a place very 'like' Narnia, as you said. Right now, we are in the Nature Reserve behind C. S. Lewis's house, the Kilns. It was this place that helped to inspire Narnia."

"Uhh…who's C. S. Lewis?"

"Wha-ha-ha-who-_who's C. S. Lewis?!_" Petraverd whinnied and spluttered in rage. "Why…why you little…GAH!!" He trotted ahead a few paces, trying hard to calm himself down enough not to give her another bludgeoning session. After a few seconds he determinedly pulled himself together, sent a vicious glare in her direction and began cantering away through the woods.

"Hey! Petra-person! Like, wait!" Smooge hiked up her pajama pants and stumbled after him. "Wait for me!"

"Come!" he called back, never slowing his pace. "Come further up and further in!"

Smooge tried to keep up with him, but it was as useless as trying to catch a moonbeam. Petraverd had galloped out of sight and melted into the shadows. If she'd had her way, she would've immediately turned around to go home and curl up in her nice warm bed...but home was now far away. She had no choice but to try and follow the elusive creature's path.

For your sake, dear reader, I shall skip the time it took to find him again and go straight to when at last, fangirl and ghostly unicorn stood together, outside a window of the Kilns; looking in at someone. Someone very special.

Smooge had no idea what they were there for and yawned. "Petraverg, why are we standing here watching some old guy in a bathrobe?"

If looks could kill, Smooge would be dead.

"Would you _shut up_?" hissed the ghost. "Why any decent Narniac would give a million bucks to be in your ungrateful, unappreciative, unworthy little shoes! And it's Petra_verd_! Look it up!"

"Okay, geez. Sorry."

"Humph. You _should_ be."

"But seriously, who is that guy?"

"That 'guy', as you so brilliantly put it, is C. S. Lewis...though to his friends, he is known as 'Jack'. He is the man who first invented Narnia. And right now, as we speak, he is thinking up tales of magical lands and talking animals and great adventures. Stories to tell to the three children he and his brother Warren are taking care of."

Smooge still didn't feel too interested, but as the man's life unfolded before her, she began to pay more attention. Occasionally, Petraverd told her bits and pieces about Jack's childhood memories; of the fever and toothache he had on the day his mother died, of the intricate worlds of fantasy he and his brother would dream up on rainy afternoons, of his hatred for the nasty boarding schools he had to attend, and his delight in setting words to paper and writing stories. The scenes kept flashing by, one after the other, each revealing a jewel of a moment in Jack's life; each making him seem less like a boring old author to Smooge and more like a real person with joys and hopes and cares and fears. She smiled at the happiness in his face as he and his wife Joy grew to love each other more and more, and giggled at the playful antics of their two sons.

The scenes changed again, and Smooge could tell that something was wrong. Joy seemed to be weaker, frailer...and Jack's face now had a look of strained anxiety in it. Smooge bit her lip when Joy woke up in the middle of the night, screaming in pain; and the wailing sound of an ambulance's siren could be heard in the distance.

"What's going on?" whispered Smooge. "What's happening? What's wrong with Joy?"

"Joy had bone cancer," said Petraverd, his eyes somber. "This was the night that she died in the hospital."

Cancer...

The strong, pulsing warmth in her forehead that was left behind from the spirit's touch began to spread down towards her eyes, and further down 'till she could feel it just barely brushing at her heart. A lump formed in her throat as she remembered her own, dear little sister back home; of how she had once lain so thin and pale and quiet in a cold, white hospital bed, clinging to her stuffed rabbit with fragile arms and occasionally running a small, sad hand over her shaved head...

Petraverd observed her in concern. "Your lip is trembling...and what is that upon your cheek?"

"Nothing." Smooge shook her head, pushing the fear away and blinking back tears. "I was just thinking of Little Lynn."

"Little Lynn?"

"My little sister, Marilynn. Eight years old. They...she just recently came home from the hospital. They said the cancer's gone, but...we're just hoping it stays that way." She was silent for a second, and her once-swoony eyes now began to look Deepened. Thoughtful. Sad. Her usually loud and obnoxious voice had dropped down to a soft murmur. "We were lucky."

Petraverd smiled gently. "Not 'lucky', Emma. Blessed."

Her lips twitched upward in a small, awkward, hasn't been-used-in-a-while kind of smile, and she turned back to the window. She then caught sight of the red-eyed, tear-streaked image that was her reflection. Her eyes widened as they went back to Twittering Tweenager Mode, and she gasped in horror.

"Omigosh! My mascara's like, totally ruined!"

The unicorn face-hoofed and muttered something about wanting a Smooge voodoo doll to bonk, but a small remnant of a triumphant grin was on his face. Operation Cure-The-Suthor was making excellent progress.

Smooge wiped the black streaks from her face as the last scene flashed before them and dwindled from sight. She stood in silence for a moment, then turned to the spirit with a (somewhat) thoughtful look.

"That was...cool." She spoke slowly, as if tasting the words for the first time. You could practically see the rusty gears in her head ticking and turning as she sorted through all the fresh, new, intelligent thoughts that'd been put there. A tiny spark of something began to shine in her eyes. "It was better than a movie! I mean, like, who knew that some old author book-worm person could be so interesting!"

Petraverd chuckled. "Yes. Who knew?"

"I mean…wow! Jack is a pretty neat guy!"

"You don't know how good it is to hear those words coming out of your mouth," said the spirit, grinning from ear-to-ear. "Now come." He motioned towards the opposite direction. "There is one more life for you to witness." He tossed his horsy head and was about to gallop away, when Smooge called,

"Petraverd, wait! Please don't leave me behind again! It was awfully hard to catch up with you last time, and I'm so tired. And cold."

The unicorn snorted and looked over his shoulder at her to retort back. But when he saw her standing there, looking ever so pitiful, standing in the snow in her awful pajamas with her arms wrapped around her shivering self and her eyes looking so...different...he relented. (Every unicorn has a soft spot _somewhere_.)

"Alright," he said grudgingly. "Come on then."

Smooge gave him a puzzled look. "Come on what?"

"Why me of course!" said Petraverd, snorting and stamping a hoof. "Now hurry up and climb on before I change my far-superior mind."

Smooge's eyes widened in surprise and delight. "You're giving me a ride?! Oh goodie!" she squealed happily, throwing her arms around his neck. "Thank you so much Petra..."

"Yes, yes, yes, that's nice...okay, you can let go...don't touch the indigo horn, please..." He shifted about nervously and stamped his hoof again in impatience as he wriggled free of her grasp. "Please do hurry and climb on; we haven't got all night...hey! Careful! Anyone would think I was a haystack from the way you're trying to climb up me..."

"Ooh! You're so freakin' tall..."

It took five, long, clumsy minutes for Smooge to finally scramble up and get situated; but as soon as she had settled herself on the smooth, warm, snowy back, set her knees and entwined her fingers in the long, soft mane, Petraverd reared up on his hind legs…

"You'd better hang on tight, fangirl!"

…and it became a ride she would never forget.

* * *

**A/N:** As I said before, the last part of Stave 2 is just around the corner! (I'll be quicker to update than last time, that's for sure...) Any concrits would be greatly appreciated!


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